


Like a Flower to the Bee

by Powerfulweak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Florist!Dean, M/M, Romance, Tattoo Artist!Castiel, Tattoo Shop AU, flower shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerfulweak/pseuds/Powerfulweak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't normally watch the customers who come into his flower shop, but then again the tatted-and-pierced, blue-eyed stranger isn’t your average customer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Flower to the Bee

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](http://powerfulweak.tumblr.com/post/109010461235/songofthestarwhale-bluedragon-silence)
> 
> This was an idea that wriggled into my brain and I couldn't leave it alone. Thank to [ANobleCompanion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ANobleCompanion/pseuds/ANobleCompanion) for her input on what Mary's favorite flower would be

Dean doesn’t like to make a habit of scoping out the random customers that come into his shop, but the dark-haired guy with the unshaven face, full sleeve tattoos and labret piercing gives him pause. Not that he thinks this man is going to give him trouble but really, how often do you see a guy like that in a flower shop.

He is sitting behind the counter, browsing through his copy of The Knot and picking out ideas for next month’s bridal expo, when the bell above the front door goes off. The guy immediately catches his attention. He looks around the shop absently and Dean cringes a little when he reaches out to touch one of the orchids.

“Can I help you?” Dean asks. The man startles a little at the sound and Dean is hypnotized by the bright blue eyes staring back at him.

“Um, I need… flowers?” The man says hesitantly, voice rising at the end. Dean lifts a curious eyebrows and gives a soft chuckle.

“Came to the right place,” he says, gesturing around the shop. The man gives a small smile and nods quickly. He looks up at the sign behind the register and laughs.

“‘How mad is she?’” He reads. “That’s clever.” Dean looks up at the sign where different sized bouquets are lined up from smallest to largest..

“Yeah, wish I could say I came up with it, but…” Dean shrugs and closes the magazine. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” The man stares up at Dean, his expression once again lost.

“Uh… pretty ones?” Dean bites at his lip. He doesn’t want to laugh, but the way the guy says it is so damn adorable, he has a hard time holding back.

“Alright. That’s a… good direction to go in,” he replies. “What’s the occasion?” The man stares at Dean blankly for a moment before blinking several times and shaking his head.

“Um, yes, uh, my sister,” the man says, “she’s… having a baby.”

“Well, congratulations!” Dean says, standing up and coming around the counter. “Let me show you what we have for that. Is she having a boy or a girl?” The man stares at Dean once more.

“Girl,” he blurts out. Dean gives a friendly nod. _Still adorable if a bit strange_ , he thinks. He already likes the man.

After close to a half hour, he and the man (Castiel, as he learns) finally come to a decision of a porcelain rubber duck filled with fresh cut daisies.

“These should be perfect. I think your sister will really like them,” Dean says. “They don’t require a tremendous amount of care, and only regular watering.” Castiel narrows his gaze at Dean, a look of confusion filling his expression.

“Yes! My sister! Yes, right, she will love these,” he stammers out after a second. He pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his worn out jeans. Dean takes the opportunity to examine the intricate art covering his arms. The inside of his wrist is a honeycomb design with bees traveling up into the palm of his left hand.

“I, uh, like your tattoos,” Dean offers. Castiel looks up at him and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“It’s really cool. I’ve never seen a bee tattoo before.” Dean cringes inwardly as soon as the words leave his mouth. Cas laughs lightly, tongue coyly running along a canine.

“Uh, thanks. A friend of mine did it.” Dean catches Castiel looking him up and down. “Do... you have any tattoos?”

Dean nods. “One,” he says, pointing to the spot right above his heart. “Nothing too interesting.” Castiel’s expression changes to a curious one.

“Do you mind if I see?” He asks. Dean considers him for a moment. He doesn’t think it’s terribly professional to be exposing parts of himself to customers, but clearly Castiel is clearly looking out of expert interest. Dean can spot even more tattoos peeking out of his shirt.

“Sure,” Dean says. He pulls back the collar of his shirt to reveal his tattoo, a pentagram surrounded in back flames. Castiel leans over the counter to examine it. For a brief second, Dean catches whiff of the scent of soap, cinnamon gum and clove cigarettes coming off of Castiel. Dean will admit to himself that it’s more than a little arousing.

“Nice,” Castiel murmurs, looking at the tattoo.

“It’s not that interesting,” Dean offers, straightening his collar. “Just a protection symbol. My brother and I got matching ones.” Castiel draws back and gives Dean a strange look.

“All tattoos are interesting,” he says seriously. “I’ve never seen a tattoo without a story behind it.”

“And I bet you’ve seen a lot of tattoos,” Dean adds, raising an eyebrow. Cas chuckles lightly.

“You have no idea,” he replies. Dean finds himself smiling automatically in response, lost in the laugh lines at the corners of Castiel’s eyes.

“Uh, that will be $25.60,” Dean says, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Castiel pulls a ten and a twenty out of his wallet and hands them to Dean, who quickly taps at the register. Dean hands back his change and receipt. Castiel pockets everything and picks up the porcelain duck carefully.

“Do you need help with the door?” Dean asks. Cas nods gratefully and Dean follows him toward the exit. He holds the door open and bids goodbye to Castiel as he strolls down the sidewalk.

As soon as he’s out of the store, Dean sighs wistfully and returns to the counter and his magazine. He’s absolutely sure he’s not going to see the hot tattooed dude again.

 

* * *

 

 

After the first time, Castiel’s visits become fairly regular, usually a couple times a week. He purchases a wide variety of flowers and plants from Dean, everything from a small bouquet of carnations and babies breath, to an amaryllis bulb that has Castiel listening in rapt attention as Dean explains the detailed planting and care of the flower.

On each occasion, Dean seems to learn more and more about Castiel. They have a 30 minute conversation of the best place for cheeseburgers in town, and spend an hour taste testing different pies after Cas admitted he hadn’t tried Benny’s Diner yet.

“I’m telling you Cas,” Dean says as he arranges a half dozen Calla lilies in a vase, “the books are worth it. I mean the show is pretty close, but there’s a lot of details they just don’t have time to get into.” Cas is leaning over the counter, watching Dean work.

“I mean, Lady Stoneheart isn’t even going to be in the show,” Dean continues.

‘Who?” Cas asks, brows furrowing.

“Exactly!” Dean says, pointing at him. Castiel shakes his head and smiles ruefully.

“I don’t usually have a lot of time read,” he admits.

“Well then get the audiobook,” Dean counters with an offhanded shrug. “Listen to it while you’re at work or-” Dean stops what he is doing and looks at Cas as something suddenly occurs to him.

“What exactly do you _do_?” Dean asks. “For a job, I mean?” Cas freezes for a second and stares at Dean with wide eyes.

“I’m an artist,” he says after a beat. Dean grins broadly.

“Of course you are. I should have figured that you’d be a creative type,” he says with a nod. “Not something like..” Dean trails off, waving a hand at his work area. Castiel gives him a pinched look.

“What do you mean?” He asks. Dean gives a small frown and shrugs.

“I don’t know, it just seems like you’d be doing something… creative or artistic, y’know?” Dean shrugs slightly. “Not something like this.” He splays his hands out, indicating the shop.

“You don’t think what you do is creative?” Cas asks, a flicker of concern crossing his face. Dean laughs gruffly and shakes his head.

“It’s just flowers man,” he mumbles.

“It’s art,” Cas replies emphatically.

“It’s science,” Dean says, leveling his gaze with Cas’, “Botany, floriculture… Not art.” Cas eyes Dean, quirking his mouth to the side.

“So you don’t think your arrangements are art?” He asks carefully.

“I just know what looks good,” Dean sighs with a hint of exasperation.

“Which is what art is,” Castiel argues, pointing a finger at Dean.

“There’s more to it than that,” Dean says flatly, moving the arrangement of lilies to the counter.

“Not a whole lot,” Cas says with a grin.

“If you say so man,” Dean mumbles. “The total comes to $62.50. I hope your aunt likes these.” Cas gives a tight smile and nods. He picks up the flowers and Dean follows him to the exit as usual. He holds open the door for him when Cas abruptly stops in the doorway and turns to Dean.

“Hey, what did you mean when you said you figured I’d be the creative type?” Dean is stopped by the question. He doesn’t want to come off like he believes people with tattoos aren’t fit to have normal jobs (which they absolutely can). He opens his mouth to answer and then closes it again, Castiel watching him carefully.

“Well, I mean… uh, you’re pretty much a walking work of art,” Dean stammers out. Castiel’s gaze softens for a second and Dean realizes what he could’ve inferred. “I mean tattoos! Your tattoos are art.”

“So because I have tattoos I have to be an artist?” Cas asks sarcastically.

“No, no,” Dean rushes out, holding out his hand. “But I mean… Clearly you have an eye for design. You have all of that beautiful ink on you and…” Dean trails off, hoping he made himself clear.

“You understand what I mean, right?” Dean pleads. Cas’ face breaks into a grin and he nods.

“Yes, I understand Dean,” he says. He bids him goodbye and walks out the door, carefully carrying flowers. Dean puffs out a heavy breath and returns to his spot behind the counter.

“Way to make an ass of yourself, Winchester,” he mutters.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean is driving into work when he sees that half the street has been closed off for construction. He frowns to himself, peeved that he won’t be able to use his parking spot up front until they are through. He begins circling the Impala around  the block, finding a spot a couple blocks in the opposite direction from which he usually comes.

It’s a warm day and Dean can at least appreciate the nice weather as he walks toward the shop. As he steps onto his block though, he notices something out of the ordinary.

A tattoo shop has opened in the old accounting office three doors down from his own. The Sign above the door is hand painted and detailed, reading “Saints and Sinners Ink”. The “Yes, We're Open” sign hangs on the door and Dean checks his watch, noting that he has a few minutes to stop in. Maybe he can introduce himself to the owner, one small business owner to another.

As soon as Dean steps inside, he notices one thing right off the bat: There are a lot more flowers than one would expect in a tattoo parlor. They are everywhere: On the counters, on the window ledges, positioned on the tables amongst tattoo magazines and photo albums. They create a maze one has to carefully navigate through to avoid knocking over any beautifully arranged bouquets.

Not only only are there a lot of flowers, Dean notes, but they are _his_ flowers. He arranged every vase-full in the room. He’d recognize his own work anywhere. Dean glances at the front counter, picking up a familiar, now empty, porcelain rubber duck.

Footsteps echo down the hall. “Sorry about the wait, how can I help-” Castiel’s words are cut off as soon as he emerges from the back and sees Dean.

“Hey,” Dean greets, a small smile crossing his face. Castiel’s mouth hangs open in shock.

“Um… Hello, Dean,” he replies  finally. He glances around the room anxiously. “Uh, look, before you say anything, let me assure you that I’m not some sort of crazy stalker with a flower fetish.”

“Ok,” Dean says warily. He looks around the reception area and sighs heavily. “There are _a lot_ of flowers in here.”

“I swear there’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this,” Castiel stammers out. Dean gives him an odd look and holds up the porcelain duck.

“I’m guessing this wasn’t for your sister then?” Dean asks.

“I don’t even have a sister,” Castiel replies with a grimace, shaking his head.

“And all the flowers for your various family members?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I might’ve… um, they don’t exist either,” Cas admits. Dean sets the duck back down on the counter carefully. He’s not mad that Castiel lied; why he buys flowers is his business. He is curious as to _why_ he lied, though.

“So… “ Dean begins, folding his arms over his chest, “is there a reason you’re trying to make your tattoo shop look like the Botanical Gardens?” Cas huffs a forced laugh and scratches at his head.

“Well, you see-”

“Hey, Castiel, you’ve got to see these geometric designs they are doing. They are so badass.” A small dark-haired woman comes out from the back. She’s dressed in a flowy plum top and a pair of black denim cut-offs, showing off an intricate Japanese koi motif running up her pale thigh.

“I should try these out on you if you have any blank-” The woman goes silent the moment she sees Dean and a wide, toothy grin spread across her face. “Holy Shit, it’s Flower Boy!” She rushes over to Dean, eyes wide and excited.

“Oh my God, you are _much_ more attractive up close. Jesus!” The woman enthuses. She glances back toward Castiel. “So since he’s here, does that mean you’re finally going to stop filling up our lobby with plants.” Castiel goes bright red and covers his face with his hand.

“I’m Meg,” the woman says with a cheshire cat grin. She offers her hand to Dean, “and you’re Dean, right?”

“Yup,” he replies, shaking her hand.

“Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Meg says. “I’m a big fan of your work. Although, not quite as big a fan as Castiel.” She gives Cas another knowing look.

“I’m going to run and get a coffee from Benny’s. Either of you want anything?” Cas shakes his head from behind his hand.

“No thanks,” Dean says.

“Suit yourself,” Meg shrugs as she pushes out the front door, a soft bell signaling her exit.  

Once they are alone again, Cas lifts his head, giving Dean an apologetic look.

“Dean, I-”

“So was that your…?” Dean points toward the door.

“Uh, my partner,” Castiel mumbles. Dean frowns in disappointment. “Business! Business partner. Strictly business… Meg is definitely just a _business_ partner.” Dean nods, holding back a grin at Castiel’s flustered reaction.

“Oh, ok,” Dean says. “Why did she call me flower boy?” Cas’ cheeks redden and he looks at his shoes. He rubs a hand across his face and groans.

“Look, it’s just… We’ve seen you cross the street to your shop a bunch of times and… and we always talk about you-”

“What do you say?” Dean asks, genuinely curious.

“Ah, I don’t know just… things,” Cas sighs, “but I really wanted to introduce myself-”

“So you lied about buying flowers for a nonexistent pregnant sister?” Dean supplies, still confused.

“I don’t know,” Cas mutters, shaking his head. “I was caught off-guard.”

“But why’d you keep on buying them?” Dean asks, leaning against the counter. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.” Cas looks at him and runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. He can see the labret piercing wiggle in response.

“I… I just liked watching you work,” Cas answers plainly. Dean considers this statement for a moment, not sure if he should be flattered or concerned.

“You do know you spent over $1000 in flowers in a little over a month, right?” Dean asks. Cas’ eye twitches slightly.

“That much, huh?” He mumbles. “Oh God, look, I know this is really awkward but would you want to perhaps grab a cup of coffee and talk this out because I need to find a better way to explain myself.” Dean glances down at his watch.

“I’m actually already late to open the shop,” he replies. It’s true too; stopping into the tattoo parlor had cost him 15 minutes, and he has a wedding order to fill for tomorrow morning. Dean hurries toward the door.

“Maybe another time Cas,” he says. “I’ll see you around, ok?” Cas lifts his hand in a wave and Dean pushes out onto the sidewalk, hurrying down the street toward his shop.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Castiel growls, letting his head hit the counter with a painful thunk. Of all the ways that could’ve gone, that was worse than even he could’ve imagined. He had never expected Dean to come by with so many of the flower arrangements still in the front of the shop (and, Goddammit, why was Meg feeding them that “long-lasting” plant food stuff?).

He stays like that, slumped against the counter, until the front door bell goes off once more. Castiel lifts his head to see Meg coming through the door with two styrofoam cups of coffee.

“I figured odds were you’d need one of these,” she says. “Judging by the look of things and the absence of Flower Boy, I’m guessing it didn’t go well?” Castiel sighs heavily and stands up to his full height.

“No, it did not,” he says, taking his coffee from Meg with a mumbled “thank-you”.

“What’d he do? Call you a stalker? Laugh in your face?” Meg leans over the counter toward Castiel.

“No, no, he was very polite about it,” Castiel says, taking a tentative sip of his coffee. “He just said he had to open the flower shop and ran out of here like a bat out of hell.” Meg nods in understanding. She reaches out and punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“Well, buck up, Clarence,” she says. “There’s plenty of other fish in the see, including some who you don’t need to spend your entire paycheck on to meet.” Castiel smiles gratefully. Meg stands up straight and grabs Castiel by the sleeve.

“Now c’mon,” she says, pulling him into the back. “I want you to check out this geometric designs.”

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, Cas is at the front counter, idly sketching in his notebook when the bell over the door chimes. He lifts his head, caught off guard by the sight of Dean coming through the door.

“Hey Cas,” he greets.

“Uh, hello Dean,” Castiel replies. He closes his notebook and rises to his feet. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Dean looks away shyly and pulls a piece of paper from his back pocket.

“Well, I came here for a tattoo,” Dean says.

“Oh,” Castiel blurts out in surprise. “That makes sense, I suppose.” He wants to crawl underneath the counter to escape his own awkwardness.

“I, uh, was wondering if you could do this?” Dean asks. He unfolds the paper to reveal a brightly colored picture.

“Sunflowers,” Castiel says. The image is a print of a watercolor painting. The colors are rich and saturated, the lines soft. “This is really nice. I like it.”

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty cool,” Dean says. He smiles slightly. Castiel looks up at him in interest.

“Any particular reason for sunflowers?” He wonders. “I mean, you’re a florist. There are any number of plants and flowers you could choose from. Why sunflowers?” Dean looks away shyly, hesitating on answer.

“They were my mom’s favorite,” he offers. “She passed away when I was a kid.

“I’m sorry Dean,” Castiel’s expression falters.

“It was a long time ago. It’s fine,” Dean waves his hand in front of him dismissively and draws Castiel’s attention back to the paper in front of him. ”Do you think you can do this?” Castiel pokes his tongue around the inside of his bottom lip as he examines the picture, wiggling his labret piercing unconsciously.

“Yeah, I can do this.” He grabs a small photo album from off the counter. “Do you want to take a look at my past work? Make sure I’m up to par?”

“Did you do the design on Meg’s leg?” Dean asks.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then I think your work is far better than ‘par,’” Dean chuckles. Castiel smiles at the compliment and looks at the picture once more.

“So where do you want this then?” He asks. Dean slaps his right shoulder.

“I was thinking from the front of the shoulder up across the bicep… What do you think?” Castiel nods.

“Yeah, that’ll look really good,” he agrees. “Are you free tomorrow?” A look of disappointment crosses Dean’s face.

“You can’t do it now?” He mumbles. Castiel sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m going to need at least a couple of hours to work on the stencil. The shape has to be customized to fit your shoulder,” he explains. “Then the tattoo itself is probably going to take a few hours and easily two sessions.” Castiel exhales through his teeth.

“You’re looking at about $400,” Castiel offers with some reluctance, knowing that high cost and long sessions usually drive people away. Dean just nods though.

“Ok,” he says. Castiel narrows his gaze at Dean.

“Really?” he asks. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? You’re not obligated just because of the whole… flower thing.” Dean laughs at that.

“I know,” he replies. “The thing is, I’ve wanted to get this tattoo for awhile, your work speaks for itself, and seeing as you’ve basically paid my rent for the next month, the least I can do is offer you some business.” Castiel isn’t entirely satisfied, but he’s not going to turn away a customer.

“Alright,” he digresses. “How about you come back in tomorrow afternoon around 2 pm and we’ll get started on the outline.” Dean grins at him.

“Sounds good, Cas.” he says.

They discuss the design a little further, and Castiel takes a couple measurements of Dean’s shoulder. He pencils in Dean on the calendar and sets an appointment reminder on his phone.

“See you tomorrow Cas,” Dean waves goodbye as he slides out the front door. Cas lifts a hand and watches Dean walk past the window to his own shop.

“He came back,” Castiel jumps at the sound of Meg’s voice behind him. He turns to see her leaning against the doorframe to the back, giving him a wry smile.

“Yeah, he’s getting a tattoo tomorrow,” Castiel answers, trying to tamp down the glee in his voice. Meg hums in approval.

“So your flower buying spree actually paid off then?” She walks over and leans against the counter next to him.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He says, looking at the sunflower picture carefully.

“Did you get a date at least?” She asks. Castiel bites the inside of his cheek in annoyance.

“No,” he mumbles. Meg smacks her hands on the desk.

“ _Oooh, So close_ , Clarence,” she groans. “Fumbled at the 10 yard line.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” he says, refocusing his attention on the picture.

“Of course you don’t,” she yells out sarcastically, walking back down the hallway. Castiel rolls his eyes and grabs up his notebook and pencil, starting to work on Dean’s design.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean walks in the next afternoon, two cups of coffee from Benny’s in hand, just as Castiel is running the design through the thermal fax printer.

“What’s going on Cas?” He asks, approaching the front counter. “I brought coffee.”

“Hello Dean, thank you very much.” Castiel replies. He takes a tentative sip, careful not to burn himself. The coffee is perfect.

He looks up at Dean, who is also carefully drinking from his cup. Castiel is distracted by the small smudge of potting soil across Dean’s forehead. “You have something right…” he points to Dean’s head, indicating the smudge. Dean swipes at his hairline with the back of his wrist, but misses it.

“Here, let me…” He reaches out and drags a thumb across Dean’s forehead. Castiel touches people for a living and knows he’ll soon be up close in Dean’s personal space. Still, he’s startled by how intimate the simple act of brushing dirt off of his forehead seems.

“Did you close up the shop to be here?” Castiel asks quickly, diffusing the tension.

“Nah, I called in a favor from my little brother,” Dean replies with a shake of his head. “I don’t expect it to be too busy anyway.” Castiel smiles and nods politely, taking another sip from his cup. He holds up the stencil for Dean to look at.

“Here’s the final product,” Castiel says, carefully offering the stencil in Dean’s direction. “So this part here will come up right over the front of your shoulder, and the rest will wind around to the side.” Dean makes an impressed little noise.

“When we start shading, it’s really going to pop.” Cas continues.

“Looks great to me Cas,” Dean replies. “Should we get started?”

“Uh, yeah.” He picks up a clipboard and hands it to Dean. “Just fill out a release and this checklist, and when you’re ready, just come on back. I’m afraid you can’t bring the coffee. No food or drink in the studio.” Dean nods and takes a huge swig of his coffee. He stands over the counter and fills out the forms as Castiel walks back to his studio to prep his workstation.

Dean follows a few minutes later just as Castiel is setting a plastic sheet over his work area.

“Here you go,” he says, offering the clipboard back to Castiel. He looks over the information, double checking that Dean hasn’t said yes to any prohibiting factors.

“Looks good,” Castiel murmurs, setting the clipboard down on a counter away from his work station. Dean stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking at Cas.

“So… how is this going to work?” Dean asks after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, do you want me sitting up or laying down...?” Dean trails off and Castiel catches the blush blooming at the tips of his ears. Castiel laughs lightly.

“Um, why don’t you lay back. That way I can get a better angle,” Castiel says. Dean walks into the room and settles into the chair next to Castiel.

“Your shirt,” Castiel says.

“What?”

“You’re going to need to take your shirt off.” Castiel tugs at the sleeve of Dean’s flannel.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Dean replies, tugging both shirts over his head. Dean’s skin is lovely and smooth and covered in a smattering of freckles over his neck and shoulders. Castiel feels like a criminal for even considering covering them with a tattoo.

He pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and picks up a spray bottle of soapy water. He sprays down Dean’s arm to disinfect it, wiping it down with a clean paper towel. He picks up a disposable razor from the plastic-lined table and removes the guard.

“I need to shave you,” Castiel says. “Hope you don’t mind.” Dean shakes his head and Castiel begins running the razor over upper chest and shoulder, careful to make sure he gets every hair. When he’s finished, he tosses the razor in a trashcan and returns to his stool. He grabs up a stick of Right Guard and uncaps it, smearing it over Dean’s skin.

“What’s that for?” Dean asks.

“Helps the stencil stick to the skin,” Castiel murmurs. He wipes down the deodorant with another paper towel and replaces the cap.

Castiel picks up the stencil carefully and slowly brings it down to meet Dean’s skin. The stencil has been cut down to lay across Dean’s shoulder without bunching or folding. He repositions it a couple times, wiping away the misplaced stencil and  then setting it again. Once it is entirely placed on Dean’s arm, Castiel presses on the stencil before taking up a corner or the paper and slowly peeling it back. The dark blue-purple lines remain.

“Awesome,” Dean breathes.

“Have to let it dry now,” Castiel says. “If you need to use the bathroom, I recommend now.” Dean shakes his head and sits quietly as Castiel sets up his tattoo machine and pours out his ink. He tears open a new needle package and inserts it into his tattoo machine. Dean jumps at the buzz of the machine when Castiel tests it out.

“Ok, I think that should be ready,” Castiel taps at Dean’s arm with a gloved finger after a few minutes. Castiel can see the tension in Dean’s shoulders when picks up a folded paper towel and tattoo gun.

“Ready?” He asks Dean.

“As I’ll ever be,” Dean replies. The tattoo machine hums to life and Castiel hears Dean inhale sharply at the first touch of the needle to his arm.

“You’re tense,” Castiel says. “Why?”

“A needle painfully digging into my skin isn’t reason to be nervous?” Dean replies sarcastically.

“But you’ve done this before,” Castiel tips his head toward Dean’s left; he huffs out a bitter laugh.

“I was very drunk when that happened,” Dean admits. Castiel clucks his tongue in disapproval.

“Not good Dean,” he admonishes. The buzz of the machine echoes through the room and he can feel Dean’s muscle clenching beneath his hand.

“Well, I’m sober as hell now if that makes you feel any better,” Dean hisses through gritted teeth. Dean relaxes as the buzzing stops and Castiel replenishes the ink from the cup in his hand.

“Talking helps,” he says over the buzz.

“What?” Dean asks.

“Talking helps when you’re nervous,” Castiel says as he stops and dips down for more ink. “Say something. Ask a question. Whatever.”

“Uh…” Dean stammers for a moment. “What’s with the bees, man?” Castiel glances at him momentarily, brows furrowed.

“Pardon?”

“The bees,” Dean waves his free arm in Castiel’s direction. “On your hand and wrist. The tattoo.” Castiel blinks a couple times and thinks about the question; no one has ever asked him that before.

“Well, I don’t know,” he gets more ink from the cup. “I just like bees, I guess. They fascinate me.”

“It seems kind of out of place compared to all the religious stuff,” Dean replies. Castiel glances down at his arms, adorned with stone angels, stained glass and biblical text.

“Yeah, well,” Castiel huffs an awkward laugh, “the religious stuff has stories behind it.”

“I thought every tattoo has a story behind it,” Dean asks. Castiel pauses and the machine goes silent.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he agrees. “But some stories are more complicated than others.” He dips into the cup and continues to trace along Dean’s arm, wiping away the blood and stencil as he goes.

“I can see that,” Dean mumbles. Silence falls between them and Castiel can feel Dean’s eyes on him. It’s unsettling in the best way; like a small ball of warmth settling into his gut.

“I like bees too,” Dean offers, breaking the quiet. Castiel looks up and catches Dean gaze in his.

“Excuse me?” he says.

“Bees,” Dean gestures toward Castiel’s arms once more. “They’re good. They keep me in business. More bees, more pollination, better flowers.” Castiel smiles to himself and dips for more ink.

“That’s true,” he replies softly.

 

* * *

 

 

After almost 90 minutes, Castiel draws back from Dean with a sigh.

“I think that’s it,” he says. He pulls off one glove and grabs a mirror from the far counter, handing it to Dean. Dean carefully examines the design, just thin black outlines against reddened skin.

“It’ll look better once it heals,” Castiel offers. “And wait until we get to coloring and shading… It’s going to look great.”

“When can we start on that?” Dean asks, still holding the mirror to the side to get a closer look at the details on his shoulder.

“About six weeks,” Castiel answers.

“Six Weeks?!” Dean gapes. “That long?” Castiel nods, quirking his mouth to the side.

“Believe me, the more time you have to heal between sessions, the better the final result.” Dean hums in annoyance but doesn’t argue. Castiel grabs out another clean rubber glove and puts it on his bare hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he offers.

He cleans up the area carefully and coats it in ointment. He grabs up a clean sheet of plastic film and gingerly wraps it in place over Dean’s upper chest and shoulder.

“Leave that on for at least a little while, but don’t keep it on for more than an hour,” Castiel instructs. “I’m afraid I don’t have any bandages that size, otherwise I’d use that.”  He pulls off both gloves and drops them into the trash.

“When you clean it, use the gentlest antibacterial soap possible, no dyes, no perfumes and _only_ liquid soap,” Castiel instructs, going into full professional mode. “You’re going to want to avoid any direct water hitting it for a few weeks, so be careful in the shower, and no baths until it’s healed, got it?” Dean laughs at this.

“Do I really seem like the kind of guy who takes baths, Cas?” He asks sarcastically. Castiel eyes him knowingly but doesn’t say anything.

“Keep it well moisturized,” he continues. “Tattoo Goo is ok, but Aquaphor or plain lubriderm work just as well for half the price.” Dean nods and rises from the chair. Castiel pulls a file folder out of the cabinet and removes a sheet with the words “Tattoo Aftercare” written across the top.

“Don’t pick at the scabs of course,” he says, handing Dean the sheet. “That details pretty much everything and you can come by if you have any concerns. Any other questions?” Castiel gives Dean his best professional smile.

“Uh, can I put my shirt back on?” Dean asks. While he was doing the tattoo, Castiel had zoned out to the fact that Dean was half-naked and in close proximity. Now though, he is all at once very aware of Dean’s state.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he says stiffly. Dean picks his shirts up from the spare chair and awkwardly tries to shift himself into them without disrupting the covering. He needs Castiel’s help with the t-shirt, but he is able to manage the flannel on his own.

He folds up the care instructions and places them in his pocket as he and Castiel walk back up to the lobby of the shop.

“So, I’ll put you down for six weeks from now,” Castiel says, glancing at the appointment book. “And we can get the shading coloring done then.”

“Sounds good Cas,” Dean reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. “So paying? Do you want me to pay for all of it now or…?”

“Uh, we can do half now and the other half after the next session,” he offers. Dean pulls out a credit card and hands it to Castiel. He runs it through his machine and offers Dean the receipt to sign.

“Thank you Cas,” Dean says, handing the slip of paper back to him. “I already love what we have so far.” He places the card back in his wallet and slips it back into his pocket.

“You are welcome Dean,” Castiel says. Dean gives a lazy salute and turns to leave, but then immediately turns around.

“Almost forgot,” Dean mumbles, taking his wallet back out. He extracts a folded up bill and hands it to Castiel. “The tip.”

“Dean, you don’t have to do that,” Castiel holds out his hands to stop him.

“It’s customary,” Dean says sternly. “You’ve done good work. You’ve earned it. Now, take it.” Castiel begrudgingly takes the bill from Dean, noting to his discomfort that it’s a fifty.

“Have a great day Cas,” Dean waves goodbye and the bell above the door signals his departure. Castiel flops down into the desk chair behind the counter and scrubs his hands over his face. He feels completely drained from what was already a very intense session, not made any less intense by his ever-growing crush on Dean. If he thought it was bad before, having a shirtless Dean in front of him surely didn’t help.

Castiel rises from the chair with a grunt and stretches his hands above his head. He turns and walks back down to his studio to clean up the mess.

 

* * *

 

 

After that, Dean begins coming by the a couple days a week. He stops to chat or ask questions about the healing of the tattoo ( _“It itches like a motherfucker, Cas!” “Don’t scratch it. Tap it.”_ ). Sometimes he brings coffee from Benny’s or, a couple times, fresh slices of pie to go with it.

Castiel’s lobby slowly empties of flowers as the bouquets and arrangements wilt and die. He feels slightly guilty about it, but Dean waves him off, saying that he has bought enough flowers to last a lifetime.

That doesn’t stop Castiel from coming into Dean’s shop once a week, looking for an arrangement for the porcelain rubber duck.

In the blink of an eye, six weeks passes and Dean is once again in the chair.

“No stencil this time, Cas?” He asks, watching Castiel prepare the machine and ink.

“No, I only use stencils for the outline,” he explains. “I shade freehand.” A flicker of worry crosses Dean’s face, but he just nods and settles back into the chair.

“I’m ready when you are Cas,” he says. The machine comes to life, and Cas dips the needle into the cup of yellow ink. He works smoothly over Dean’s skin, the only sound being the hum of the tattoo machine.

“This feels different than before,” Dean says. “Hurts more.”

“Different type of needle,” Castiel replies dipping in for more yellow.

“Wait, you have different needles?” Dean asks, lifting his head and looking at Castiel.

Castiel nods. “Of course,” he says. “A painter uses different brushes depending on what they need. The needles are just my brushes.” Dean nods in understanding. He’s quiet for a while, but Castiel can feel Dean looking at him.

“So, Cas…” Dean begins. “What do you do when you’re not here?” Castiel glances up at, blinking a few times.

“Um, I don’t  know,” Castiel admits. “Work out, I guess. Sketch a little.”

“That’s it?” Dean ask with some surprise. “You don’t get out at all? Hit up the bars? Go clubbing?” Castiel chuckles lightly.

“Y’know, despite the stereotypical ‘bad-boy’ exterior, I actually much more of a homebody than you’d expect.” Castiel gives Dean a wry smile and continues to work.

“I never said you were a bad boy,” Dean mumbles and Castiel has to bite his lip to hold back a flirtatious _“Do you want me to be?”_.

There is a long span of silence before Dean speaks again.

“So, Meg, was it?” Dean asks. “Was she the one who did all of your tats?” Castiel glances down at his arms.

“She did the honeycombs and the bees, and a few others spots on my chest and back and… other places.” Dean raises an eyebrow at this and smiles softly. “The sleeves were done by someone else, though.” Castiel hopes Dean won’t dig further. He really doesn't want to discuss what or who led him to those tattoos. Thankfully, Dean only nods.

“How many tattoos do you have?” Dean wonders. Castiel smiles to himself; he gets this question a lot and never minds answering it.

“One,” he admits.

“One?” Dean repeats in disbelief. Castiel meets his eye.

“One,” he emphasizes with a sly smile. “It’s just very, very big.”

“Well Damn Cas,” Dean exclaims, eyes bright with laughter. They chat on and off as Castiel slowly fills in the outlines of Dean’s tattoo.

“So I have a question,” Dean asks abruptly near the end of the session. “When you bought all those flowers from me…”

“Yeah?” Castiel says carefully, a feeling of familiar mortification settling over him.

“You always said you were buying them for someone,” Dean continues. “Your sister, your aunt, your mom…”

“So?” Castiel asks, touching up the shading on a sunflower stem.

“Never once did you say girlfriend,” Dean concludes. Castiel looks up from his work, meeting Dean’s curious gaze.

“‘Girlfriend’ isn’t really my thing, actually,” he mutters, averting his eyes.

“Oh?” Dean replies. He is quiet for a moment. “Boyfriend, then?”

“More my style,” Castiel admits. “But no, I don’t currently have one.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean mumbles. “Hey um-”  The buzz of the tattoo machine cuts off  abruptly before Dean can say anything else.

“I think that’s it,” Castiel sits up straight and stretches his back. He pulls off his glove and grabs the mirror, handing it to Dean. “What do you think?” Dean is strangely quiet as he examines the tattoo. Castiel is about to ask if something is wrong when his face suddenly breaks out in s massive grin.

“Wow,” Dean breathes. “This is incredible. The color, it’s so vivid.” A swell of pride washes over Castiel. “That’s amazing Cas!” Castiel scratches at the back of his head and looks away.

“It’ll look even better when it heals,” he offers. “Here, let’s get that  ointment on and get you wrapped up.” Castiel replaces his tossed rubber glove and grabs the spray bottle and jar of A&D from the counter. Dean lays back once more, allowing Castiel to clean him up and apply the ointment.

Now that he’s not deep into his work, Castiel is acutely aware Dean’s body before him. He indulges a few wandering glances as he carefully applies the ointment over the raw skin. He draws his gloved fingers up over Dean’s shoulder, perhaps going a bit farther or longer than necessary with the application.

“That should be good,” Castiel mutters. He looks up, noticing how close he is to Dean now, how Dean’s eyes are dark and locked onto his. They flick down to his lips momentarily before Dean presses forward, kissing Castiel.

Castiel inhales in surprise. Dean’s lips are warm and soft and taste like coffee. Castiel has thought about kissing Dean for months, but he’s completely caught off-guard by this.  

The kiss is brief, only a couple seconds. Dean draws away abruptly, his face a mixture of exhilaration and panic.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Cas,” he stammers out. “That was completely unprof- _omph_!” Castiel presses forward and captures Dean’s lips in his once more. His hands reach out and cup the back of Dean’s head. Dean moans into the kiss and the sound goes straight to Castiel’s cock. He frantically rises from his stool still kissing Dean. It’s awkward moving around the work table in order to get to the chair, but Castiel’s only thought is getting closer to Dean.

He falls into Dean’s lap inelegantly, straddling him. He pops off of Dean mouth, kissing over the bolt of his jaw and down his neck. He wants to kiss every inch of Dean, run his tongue over every hard plane. Dean gasps his name in his ear, and Castiel automatically grinds down into Dean’s lap with a whimper.

Castiel’s hand falls at Dean’s side, careful to avoid the tender skin of the tattoo. Rough fingers travel underneath Castiel’s t-shirt, moving the fabric up his back.

Just as Castiel is about to slip his shirt over his head, there is the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him.

“Um, Clarence?” Meg pipes up. “Unless you want to take responsibility for multiple state and federal health code violations, I would recommend not fucking Flower Boy in your studio.” Castiel pulls away from Dean and looks behind him to see Meg smirking at him from the doorway.

“Just my thoughts,” Meg sarcastically offers with a shrug. She turns and walks back down the hallway, leaving Castiel and Dean alone once more.

“Clarence?” Dean asks, catching his breath. Castiel shakes his head.

“It’s her nickname for me.” He waves his hand to the stone angel on his right arm. “Angels, Clarence… I don’t really understand.” Dean grins up at Castiel.

“I do,” he says. Castiel gingerly dismounts Dean and helps the other man to his feet.

“She’s probably right,” Castiel admits, slightly dazed. “Don’t want to... violate anything.”

“Except each other,” Dean snorts. Castiel bursts into laughing fit. Dean follows suit and Castiel can’t help himself; He reaches out and cups a hand around Dean’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. They alternate between tender kisses and giggling into each other’s mouths. Dean pulls away with a breathy sigh.

“I should probably get back to the shop,” Dean says reluctantly. “Got an order to fill for tomorrow.” Castiel takes a minute to wrap Dean’s shoulder and help him back into his t-shirt and flannel. He leads Dean back to the front of the shop. Meg is standing behind the counter.

“Let’s get you cashed out, Flower Boy,” she says as Dean offers her his credit card.

“It’s ‘Dean’, actually,” he corrects.

“Clarence, tell Flower Boy how often I call people by their actual names,” Meg orders.

“Very rarely,” Castiel supplies, giving Dean an apologetic look. Dean signs his receipt and hands it back to Meg. He opens his wallet to grab out cash for a tip.

“Don’t worry about that,” Castiel gently places a hand on Dean’s to stop him.

“Cas-” Dean protests.

“Take me out to dinner instead,” Castiel offers. A slow smile spreads over Dean’s face and he nods.

“Ok. That sounds good,” Dean replies. “Uh… When?”

“Tonight?” Castiel raises a tentative eyebrow. “Maybe?”

“Tonight works,” Dean agrees. Castiel grabs pen and one of his business cards from the desk. He quickly scratches his cell number on the back and hands it to Dean.

“And maybe if the tonight goes well,” Castiel mumbles, “I can show you the rest of my tattoo.”

“Including… ‘Other places?’” Dean asks with a shy smile.

“ _Especially_ Other Places,” he emphasizes.

“Oh my God! You guys sound like a bad porn!” Meg groans. “Get the hell outta here so Clarence can get back to work.” Dean shoots Meg an annoyed glare, but shrugs his coat on all the same.

“I’ll call you in a little while,” he tells Castiel. The bell goes off as he pushes through the door. Castiel holds up his own hand as Dean waves through the window.

“I’ve got a date,” Castiel announces, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

“That you do. I’m proud of you Castiel,” Meg replies. “However, If I ever catch you trying to fuck someone in the studio again, I will tattoo a dick on your face.” She gives Castiel a serious look, and he knows she means it.

Castiel walks back to his studio to clean up from the session. He wants to make sure he’s ready to go as soon as Dean calls.

  
  



End file.
